In my father's footsteps
by LightBronze
Summary: Series 5, end of the episode 'The Death Song of Uther Pendragon'. Arthur is making his own decisions as king of Camelot, but sometimes he is eaten by doubts. Here's a bit of Arthur ruminating. Rated Kplus for minor language and minimal violence.


**In my father's footsteps**

_This short little scene takes place at the end of episode 55: "The Death Song of Uther Pendragon". In the episode, Uther was briefly brought back from the afterlife. In short, he was not pleased with the way Arthur ran the kingdom. We start after he was sent back to the realm of the dead by Arthur himself, and Merlin is helping Arthur gearing up for training._

My name is Arthur Pendragon, I am king of Camelot. I also happened to be a complete asshole.

It's not that I'm not trying or anything, but I disappoint even myself once in a while. One moment I think I'm making some real improvements to the way Camelot is governed, and the next moment I feel like a spoiled ten-year-old with an attitude problem that just does whatever he pleases. And I can't even help myself. Sure, I have established a social structure in which equality plays a greater role than it ever has, I've impressed upon my people that it is important to judge people based on personal qualities instead of the social standing of their families, and I've gathered a group of knights around me whose loyalty does not need to be questioned whatever the circumstances. That's not a bad score for someone who has only been king for a few years. And although Camelot has not increased in size, she is experiencing a level of welfare that is unprecedented. But what it all that worth when I treat even my closest friends in a way my father would not even approve of?

Fine, maybe he would approve. Even after his death, my father has managed to let me know in no uncertain terms that the people of Camelot exist just to serve, that I should stand above them instead of between them, and that someone's heritage should always be valued more than his accomplishments. He was angry about my choice of knights, about my marriage with Gwen, and with the way I ruled Camelot in general. Father felt that I should toughen up and rule with an iron fist, the way he had ruled in his glory days. I have never been particularly frightened by his temper, but as a ghost, he seemed to solely consist of anger and aggression, and his rage sent shivers down my spine. I thought he was going to seriously hurt me, or even kill me, and maybe he would have managed to if it wasn't for Merlin too.

The events of that day shocked me to no end, but they did get me thinking. I barely slept that night, thinking about the king I wanted to be, the way I wanted to rule Camelot, and the way I wanted to be remembered, both by my people and by the kings and queens ruling bordering realms. Father had said the things he said out of anger and frustration, but that does not mean there was no truth to them. But no matter which way I turned, my conclusion was always that my reign of Camelot should differ vastly from my father's reign. Times were different now. Back in the day, Father managed to pull the kingdom out of a very dangerous situation in which people created their own laws and took what they could take from whomever was weaker. Camelot needed a strong king back then – a king that would lay down the law and have no mercy on the ones breaking it, regardless of intentions or background. But that harsh form of government can and should not be maintained in times of peace and prosperity, even with the threat of Morgana looming over our heads. People were happy and felt they were free to seek protection from Camelot if needed. Why inspire fear in people whose loyalty went far beyond the superficial displays I so often witnessed when Father was still alive?

However, my mind refused to stop questioning everything I felt I stood for. So the next day, I did what I always do when I doubt myself: I talked to Merlin. In spite of his frequent insolence, he was one of the few people who would listen and not judge. Well, not actually. And he knew where I was coming from, because he had heard what Father said but also knew why I had made the changed Father's spirit had mocked. So when he pulled my chainmail down, I just started talking and I felt the words came much easier than I thought they would. I talked about Father, about my wished for the kingdom, and how Father's wishes and mine collided in a most unfortunate way. Merlin knew how much I still respected Father, despite our differences.

I sighed deeply. "I want to build a kingdom that is fair and just," I explained. "One where everyone is respected regardless of rank."

Because that was what I stood for, was it not?

Merlin puzzled me though, with his prompt response: "Does that include me?"

I frowned. I had not considered his position in this story, but I saw no reason to exclude him, or anyone who was 'just a servant', as some would say. "Of course," I said, wondering where the question had come from. Did he have one of his bright ideas again about how I should polish my own boots, despite it being his job?

But his retort surprised me again. "Does that mean you're not going to hit me anymore?"

I was astounded. "When do I ever hit you?"

"All the time," she said without missing a single beat.

Ah, that made sense. He was not referring to me actually hitting him. Just the rough and tumble play we engaged in together. "That's not hitting Merlin," I corrected him. "That's just a friendly slap. It's … Horseplay." An" even as I said it, I doubted myself.

Sure, most of the time when I hit Merlin, I had no intention of actually hurting him. Even if he didn't look like much, he was not that delicate. He usually took it with a wry smile too, sometimes returning the gesture by shoving me back or dropping whatever he was holding on my foot. And on a few occasions … Maybe I had hit him. Beaten him maybe, that first time we met. And the second time. But that was before we even knew each other. Before I had grown up, I should add. Yes, the young prince Arthur was a true asshole. He possibly got more than he deserved when I was younger.

Maybe I had hit him after that too. Not very often, and not the way I'd hit someone I meant to hurt. But his insolence had earned him a slap or two that wasn't friendly in nature. It's not like there is a law against such a thing, and had he been my father's servant instead of mine, he would probably have been flogged for some of the things he said, as well as his more than frequent trips to the tavern. And although his habits concerning lip and taverns had not changed, I was sure I had not actually responded with a slap in the face more than two or three times since I had become king. That could not be what he was talking about, I decided.

Merlin only confirmed my conclusion with his next question: "So … Can I give you a friendly slap?"

Trying to be funny then. I felt myself relax a little. Merlin was up to his usual business, showing me that he still had not lost that attitude I had grown fond of over the years – I just hoped nobody would tell him how fond I was of that. I just grinned and turned around to fasten my glove, mumbling, more to myself than to him: "You can certainly try."

He fell silent behind me. He sure was not expecting that response. My grin widened at the thought of his baffled face. Maybe I should turn around just so I could see and … WHACK!

I could only gasp and look shocked. That certainly came unexpected! And to be perfectly honest, I needed a moment for the black spots in front of my eyes to stop dancing and disappear. The guy had some strength in that arm, I had to admit. But did he actually just whack me across the back of the head? If anyone would have seen …

I turned on him. "What the hell was that?" I demanded. He had the decency to blush and look away.

"Just … Horseplay?" he asked in a hesitant tone.

"No Merlin," I told him, "You're doing it all wrong. Why don't I show you."

But as I took the glove he had whacked me with from his hand and pulled it over my own, balling it into a fist, I saw the colour drain from his face. He gulped and took a step back as if he expected me to hurt him badly. And maybe I had, on a few previous occasions. At this point I realised that I, Arthur Pendragon, king of Camelot, am a complete asshole. Maybe I am no different from Father after all.


End file.
